


Snowin' and Blowin' Up Bushels of Fun

by Overnighter



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-15
Updated: 2008-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overnighter/pseuds/Overnighter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baby!Panic friendship fic. Jon is easier. Even in the snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowin' and Blowin' Up Bushels of Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goshemily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/gifts).



They could never coax Brent out of the bus when it snowed. He hated the cold, and the wet and anything else that didn’t remind him of the desert. It had been a pain in the ass, because three-person snowball fights are never fair, and Spencer and Ryan always, always ganged up on Brendon. 

Jon Walker is easier. Really, that should be both his name and his title: Jon Walker Is Easier. He’s easier to live with and to climb on, and he’s definitely easier to waylay when they take a lunch break at a rest stop somewhere between Missouri and Iowa. 

It’s been snowing on and off all morning – fat, wet flakes that dissolve against the windshield, but cling to the roads, and the fields, and everything around them. Brendon woke up early this morning and spent much of it riding up front with the driver, watching it in amazement. 

When he comes back with the empty coffee cups to tell everyone they’re going to stop for lunch soon, Spencer and Ryan are still asleep, but Jon is sitting in the front lounge, his own coffee forgotten beside him as he picks out a tune on Brendon’s acoustic. It sounds like something that Brendon should recognize, but doesn’t, and he’s still standing in the doorway when Jon looks up with a sheepish smile.

“Hey, you don’t mind...?” he asks, gesturing, and Brendon shakes his head. Musical instruments are for everyone, _Ryan_. They even have a rule about it on the laminated list of Bus Rules that Spencer taped to the mini-fridge after one of Brendon and Ryan’s epic battles over – he can’t actually remember – but he does remember that it was before Jon, before Ryan’s dad, back when those things seemed to matter more. 

Jon grins at him and goes back to picking out the tune. He’s wearing a dark-grey hoodie with nothing underneath and purple sleep pants decorated with little gnomes. They say “hanging with my gnomies” on them in a regular pattern, and Brendon’s been plotting to steal them for weeks. His hair is uncombed, and he looks – finally – totally at home. There was a time when Brendon worried that he never would. 

“It’s snowing outside,” he announces, when Jon pauses again and Jon looks up and out the window. 

“Indeed it is. I’m sorry I can’t get that excited about it,” he says. 

This is the problem with having one of them be from Chicago now. Snow doesn’t seem very cool when you’ve had to get up and shovel the walk every morning before school for three months a year, or so Jon claims. Brendon still can’t get over the fact that it’s basically a little miracle of frozen water falling from the sky, with built-in playground potential. 

“But Carl says this is the best snowball snow,” he says, hoping his face looks as shocked as he feels. “Snowball snow! We could make snowmen or have a snowball fight, or a lot of other things that your boring old lake-effect snow was absolutely no good for.” 

Jon makes a little face at him, at his implied diss of Chicago and its clearly far-superior snow, but Brendon is only telling the truth. The snow in Chicago had been more like hail – a thin, crisp frozen layer over everything. It wasn’t good for anything at all. 

“Get dressed and come play with me,” he demands, and Jon sighs but puts aside the guitar, securing it carefully before standing. “I’ll go wake the others.” 

Jon ambles off towards the bathroom, and Brendon slips back into the bunks. Eric is reading a book on his, and Zack is sitting leaning against the empty bunk that they use mostly for storage, stepping into his shoes. 

“We’re going to stop in about ten minutes,” he says. “Jon and I are having a snowball fight! Oh, and for lunch, too.” 

Zack grins and swats at his head before squeezing past him into the back lounge. 

“You go wake up Sleeping Beauties One and Two. I’m going to see if I can track down some gloves this time, since I was specifically told that you need your fingers tonight,” he says, and his voice is fondly exasperated. Brendon’s pretty sure that Zack’s default setting, and he sort of loves the familiarity of it. 

The curtains to both Spencer and Ryan’s bunks – across from each other on the narrow aisle – are still closed. He listens for a minute, but he can’t hear the irregular stutter-stop of Spencer’s soft snores so he twitches his curtain first. It’s the only thing they have instead of knocking, and a closed curtain is sacrosanct. He’s pretty sure that’s on the Bus Rules, too. 

Spencer sticks his head out a second later, eyes red-rimmed and bleary, and his hair sticking straight up from his head in crazy patterns. 

“Don’t even think about it, Urie,” he snarls softly, which is unusual. 

Spencer’s usually the most polite in the mornings. He doesn’t wake up quite as instantly as Brendon, but he doesn’t need coffee like Jon or even an elaborate easing-into-the-morning ritual like Ryan in order to start his day. 

“What’d I do?” Brendon asks, whispering because Spencer is, but Spencer just makes a wrinkled face, which is how Brendon can be pretty sure that he’s not actually mad. 

“Sorry, I thought you were going to wake Ryan,” he says and Brendon shrugs. 

“I was. We’re stopping for lunch.” 

Spencer shakes his head a little bit, and the way he’s leaning out of the bunk with the curtain around him reminds Brendon weirdly of that scene in The Wizard of Oz where the guard says “Nobody gets in to see the Wizard. Not nobody. Not no how.” 

“I’ll get up and get him something. He didn’t – it wasn’t a good night. He just fell asleep a few hours ago.” 

He doesn’t elaborate, and Brendon doesn’t ask. Ryan was never particularly good at telling them what was wrong, but it’s only been worse in the last few months, with Brent and his dad and everything else. Brendon gets why it might have been worse than usual, the last few nights. 

Thanksgiving at the Wentz’s had been weird for him, too, but at least he knows that he might be able to go back home for Christmas – his mom had called him and left a message for a change, last week – but where was Ryan going to go? Back to an empty house, or to Spencer’s parents? Thinking about it sucked, and Brendon still has a chance to make things better. A chance that Ryan will never get. 

In fact, in a weird way, Ryan’s dad dying probably made things better for Brendon and his family. His parents actually showed up at Mr. Ross’s funeral, looking anxious and out of place. It was the first time he’d seen them in months, and since then they’ve been calling – or at least his mom has been – even if they always hang up before his voicemail picks up. 

“Sorry,” he says, and Spencer’s shoulders rise up for a moment, not quite a shrug. “It’s snowing out, though. Jon and me are going to have a snowball fight. Want to come?” 

Spencer sighs, and Brendon realizes finally that Ryan having a bad night means that Spencer did, too. Or at least that Spencer didn’t get any more sleep than Ryan. Brendon and Jon can sleep through anything – the product of a big family in Brendon’s case and a lot of touring in Jon’s – and Zack and Eric are too far down the row to hear anything that isn’t really loud. But Spencer’s a light sleeper with years of experience and habit in listening for Ryan; he always gets up in the middle of the night.

“You know what, never mind. How about you sack out for a little while longer and we’ll bring both of you back lunch. Any requests?” 

Spencer blinks once in delayed response, and then his soft, full smile blooms across his face. 

“I love you, Brendon Urie,” he declares in a fierce whisper, “Are we in Iowa yet, or still Missouri?” 

“Still Missouri, I think.” 

Ryan and Spencer have been having this – it’s not a contest, really, as much as it is a quest. They’re trying to eat their way across the states in alphabetical order or something. They only order food that starts with whatever letter of the state that they’re in. 

“Then we’re on the m’s, I guess.” 

Brendon nods, and sort of pats clumsily at the part of the curtain where the rest of Spencer’s shoulder should be before heading back out to the lounge. He can feel the bus slowing beneath his feet, and his holds on in the doorway as they make a sharp turn. When they come to a stop, Jon and Zack are already bundled up, and Zack’s holding coats for everyone else. 

“Spencer and Ryan are going to stay behind,” he says, trying to be casual. “They were up late last night.” 

Both Jon and Zack look concerned at that, but neither says anything, which is one of many reasons that Brendon loves them both. He shrugs into his own coat and hat, and stands patiently while Zack winds a scarf around his own neck before carefully handing Brendon...

“Mittens, Zack, seriously? That is low. What, you couldn’t find any with kittens on them?” he gripes.

“Hey,” Jon protests softly. Jon and his girlfriend have a cat named Dylan. Dylan has his own MySpace page. Brendon should know better, really, but mittens are a little bit ridiculous. 

“They’re better for packing snow, trust me,” Zack says, and Brendon just sighs and puts them on. 

The snow is falling more heavily now, making it almost hard to see the truck stop across the parking lot. He and Jon make a few half-hearted snowballs and toss them back and forth, but it’s cold and wet, and Zack is sort of glaring at them over by the door, so they don’t last too long. Two-person snowball fights are more even, but they’re still not much fun. 

They run into Eric inside the rest stop, and a bunch of techs, and everyone pitches in to find “m” foods. It’s not a huge truck stop, but they do have some options, and Brendon’s able to find minestrone soup and mac and cheese while Jon runs over to get McDonalds – _It’s an M, it totally counts!_ – and a tray of what looks like coffee for everyone. 

“Jon, coffee doesn’t count,” he says as they walk back across the parking lot, which is already covered with another layer of snow. 

“Who says it’s coffee?” he says with a grin. There are snowflakes clinging to his stubble and his bangs. 

“Ooh, did you get us hot chocolate to go with our snow?” he demands. There are very few occasions that demand hot chocolate when you grow up in Nevada, and he and Ryan and Spencer are all sort of whores for it – even the crappy kind that comes out of a machine at the 7-11. 

Jon shakes his head as they reach the bus and wait for Zack to punch in the code. 

“No, if we were in Hawaii, then, then maybe this would be hot chocolate. But since we’re in Missouri, well – this, my friend, is a tray of melted milkshakes.”

“Melted milkshakes?” 

Jon nods. 

“You know how we went to that place in New York that had the frozen hot chocolate? Well, this is the opposite of that. That way, it still counts.” 

Brendon and Jon haven’t been following the alphabet rules, but he’s still glad that Jon seems okay with indulging Ryan and Spencer. 

“You might be my favorite,” he whispers, leaning over to smack a kiss onto Jon’s cheek before running back up the steps and into the warmth of the bus. 

Ryan and Spencer have migrated out to the back lounge while the rest of them have been gone, pulling all their blankets off the bed and coming out to lay on the couches. They’re watching a movie, and Brendon sheds his jacket immediately and dives in, wiggling until he’s plastered against Ryan. 

“Fuck, Brendon, get off,” Ryan says, pushing a little, his eyes still plastered on the screen, “You’re fucking freezing.” 

“Don’t be like that, Ryan,” he says, rubbing his cold nose against Ryan’s neck. Ryan jumps and swears again, but Brendon can see that he’s smiling a little. “We brought you treats.” 

Jon comes in with his tray of drinks, and Spencer beams when he explains the melted milkshakes. Zack pushes Brendon and Ryan closer to Spencer on the couch, and sits down and starts passing out bags from McDonalds. 

Ryan looks stupidly pleased when he opens his and sees a Filet o’ Fish without tartar sauce. He’s the only person Brendon knows that ever orders one, and nine times out of ten even if the McDonalds has it on the menu outside of Lent, they won’t take the “special sauce” off. Ryan has the worst taste of anyone he knows, but Ryan’s dad didn’t really cook, and he guesses that even eating fast food must get old when you do it four or five times a week. In that case, maybe Brendon would have some strange favorites, too. 

He pushes and pulls at the people on either side of him until he’s got a cup of melted milkshake in one hand and a Big Mac in the other, his feet tucked under Ryan’s bony thighs. 

“Hey, what movie are we watching, anyway?” he asks, and Ryan finally gives in and starts the DVD menu over. 

“It’s The Breakfast Club. Pete was talking about it so much at Thanksgiving that his mom lent it to me.” 

“Oh, right. That’s awesome.” 

They all settle in to watch the movie and eat lunch as the bus rumbles to life beneath them, and Brendon keeps his eyes glued to the screen as he feels Ryan slump against him. Ryan will cuddle, but only as long as no one points out that he is, and Brendon has long since gotten used to his sneak attacks. By the time the kids on screen are hotboxing the library, his head is against Brendon’s shoulder, his breath tickling the back of Brendon’s neck. 

He looks over and Spencer has slumped over completely, his head on Jon’s lap. Jon is focused on the screen as well, his hands combing through Spencer’s hair absently in what Brendon guesses is the exact same way he pets Dylan when he’s at home. Jon finally seems to sense Brendon gaze and looks over, almost smiling. 

“Good movie,” he says and Brendon nods. 

“Yeah. Good thing, too. We’re going to be watching it again.” 

Jon chuckles a little and nods, then they both turn their attention back to the screen.


End file.
